tomorrow, the bowl I have yet to fill

The wedding looms, fraught with danger, drama, boredom, frustration, and melancholy. Despite encouragement to ask the delightful pizza delivery guy (yes, that same Chuck, famed in song and story) to accompany me, I've decided to go alone. Given my inability to make even the simplest small-talk with Chuck, an entire semi-formal, and very personally meaningful, event seems far too much for either of us to endure. There had also been some possibility that I would simply go with - not together with, but at the same time as, in a casual and entirely devoid of entendre of any kind way - the Mumbler, but that's been shot to Hell by his current mood. I haven't been able to tell whether he'll smile or snap at me for the last months or so; I'm not willing to take that on. Alone it is.

In painful truth, though, with all the suggestions (lighthearted, well-meaning, salacious, hilarious, good-hearted, silly, foolish, or hopeful) that have been made on this topic over the past few months, there is one person I've wanted to take with me. Knowing that it won't happen, I can't take any other option too seriously. A loss feels hardest, to me, when I don't even get a chance to play.

[title quotation by Natasha Trethewey]


  1. I think I have a passing familiarity with this particular trial. The internal debate, to serve your place in the tapestry of memories for the wedded ones, but to do so by suppressing your own emotional swamp gas.

    Can you at least stick with friends? Herd up for mutual protection?

    Sounds hard.

  2. My friends will all be coupled. I asked to be seated with widows and orphans, or people that no one else likes. I'm not entirely kidding.

    Yeah, I expect to drink a LOT that night. Mostly after I go home. Alone.